The Way We Get By
by emerald-soco
Summary: Summer arrives on his doorstep the same day Seth's goodbye letter makes it to his mailbox. Oneshot, takes place in the summer between Seasons 1 and 2.


**The Way We Get By**

Summer arrives on his doorstep the same day Seth's good-bye letter makes it to his mailbox. The letter is uncharacteristic of Seth, short and to the point, saying he's taking off for awhile, thanking Ryan for giving him the courage to finally make this trip.

Ryan chuckles bitterly. The Cohens gave him a home, they gift-wrapped hope and handed it over on a silver platter, and he repays them by giving their son the courage to run away? It'd be poetic if it wasn't the saddest thing he's ever heard.

He answers the door still holding the letter and Summer arches an eyebrow at the slim piece of paper. "You got one, too, huh?"

Ryan doesn't say any of the things he should say. He does not ask her what she is doing in Chino, he does not ask about Marissa's well-being, or how she feels about Seth's departure. He shrugs, nods, and says, "You wanna go get a drink?"

One thing about Chino is, the drinking age is a laughing matter to most bartenders in the neighborhood. Most of their business comes from the drop-outs, burn-outs, and down-and-outs under the legal age. Ryan has never qualified in any of those categories before, but now he thinks he could be all three.

The thought prompts him to make it a double, and Summer watches his throat work as he tosses back the vodka. "Impressive," she comments when he doesn't so much as blink at the burn.

"Yeah, well." He sets the glass down, meets her eyes for the first time. "It doesn't hurt if you don't let it."

"Ryan Atwood, the stoic." A smile darts across her lips. "Good to know some things haven't changed."

XXX

She shows up again a week later, and when Ryan hears the doorbell he already knows who is going to be on the other side. They go to the same bar and the man behind the counter slides Ryan a drink without being asked.

"_Somebody's_ a regular," Summer jokes, but there's a question underlying the light tone.

"I come here with the construction guys after our shift most days," Ryan explains. "Don't worry, we mostly come to play darts. I'm not an alcoholic."

"Good. I know too many of those these days," she says quietly.

Ryan clears his throat, looking away. He knows it is the perfect opportunity to inquire about Marissa, he's just not sure if he wants to know.

Summer takes the decision out of his hands. "She drinks all day. Mixes it with orange juice in the morning and coffee in the afternoon. Carries around water bottles that aren't water. She just … drinks and cries and fights with her mom."

He nods, absorbing the information, and takes another sip of his own drink. "I can't – I can't help her, Summer. I can't be that person for her. I have things to take care of here, I've got my own life to get under control."

"That's what I thought you'd say."

She leans close and presses her lips to his cheek. It is a chaste kiss, the sensation barely there and then gone again, but he shivers as he watches her leave.

XXX

Ryan doesn't expect her to come back after that, but he can't say he's not hoping. He tells Theresa who it is before even opening the door and when he says he'll be back shortly, she doesn't even look worried. Summer is not a threat.

"How's she doing?" Summer asks softly, gesturing to the house they're leaving in the distance.

"Pregnancy agrees with her," he replies vaguely, and changes the subject.

At the bar, Summer throws dart after dart and cannot hit the bulls-eye. Ryan beats her in three consecutive games and comes dangerously close to laughing out loud at the pout she puts on. "No fair, you're cheating," she complains, "You've had more practice than me."

"Five bucks, Roberts," he demands, and refuses to hear her protests. "Uh-uh. A bet's a bet. Come on. Cough it up."

"How 'bout double or nothin'?" she suggests, when she can only produce a wrinkled ten. "And, to even the playing field, I pick the game."

Ryan has never been able to resist a bet. He's a sucker for long odds and improbable chances. "You're on."

She decides on a staring contest, her specialty. She has flattened many male egos and silenced quite a few jealous gossipers with only a look. But she should've guessed that the boy who treats brooding as an art form would be a formidable opponent. Several minutes tick by before Summer sticks her tongue out and touches it to the tip of her nose, breaking Ryan's concentration.

"No fair, you're cheating," it is his turn to say, "You distracted me."

She grins and her eyes sparkle as she replaces her ten, along with his five, in her wallet. "Yeah, well, I have that effect on people."

XXX

The next week, Summer gets a craving for onion rings, and they leave the comfort of the bar for the greasiest diner she's ever been in. The woman who pours their coffee (and, no, Summer cannot get a latte with extra foam) wears fishnets with a run down one calf and electric blue eyeshadow up to her brows.

"This place is a _dive_," Summer whispers and Ryan nods his agreement. Feeling guilty – this is his home, after all – she adds, "No offense" and forces a smile after sipping the vile concoction from the mug in front of her.

"None taken," he smiles. "But they do have the best onion rings in town."

It turns out to be true, and she cleans her plate happily while Ryan devours a slice of blueberry pie. When the check comes, he makes a big production out of taking care of it - "No, no, this is _my_ treat, you're my _guest_" - until, blushing, she snaps her purse shut again.

He rifles through his wallet for the correct amount of bills and a family photo slides out onto the Formica surface. Summer stares at the smiling faces – Seth and Ryan laughing heartily, Kirsten behind them with a hand on each of their shoulders, Sandy's arms encircling her waist.

"Do you miss them?" she asks, tapping the glossy picture lightly.

Ryan's gaze flicks upwards to meet hers. "Every day," he sighs. "How 'bout you? You miss Seth?"

"He sends me postcards," she confides, deftly avoiding the question. "Great weather, wish you were here, blah blah blah. It's such bullshit. If he wanted me tagging along, all he had to do was ask. I would've gone anywhere with him."

"And now?"

"Now?" She considers, weighing the dimples on photo-Seth's face with the intense blue of Ryan's eyes on hers, and shrugs. "I'm kind of happy here."

XXX

Three days later, Theresa loses the baby, and Summer's cell phone goes off in the middle of brunch with her father. Ryan's name and number dance across the screen and she frowns as she answers, knowing it can only be bad news.

She hears 'Theresa' and 'the baby' and 'hospital' and is already in the car by the time he pauses to take a breath. "I'm on my way," she tells him, "Just sit down and try to stay calm."

He does not take her advice. The first thing she sees upon arriving are his knuckles, raw and bloodied, and quickly takes his hands in hers. "Who won, you or the wall?"

Ryan doesn't answer, just watches blankly as she clucks over his wounds, then covers them with Elmo band-aids she harasses out of the receptionist. "Well, I hope it made you feel better, at least. Have you been in to see her yet?"

"Yeah – yes. She's pretty out of it. They gave her … something, I'm not sure. Her mother's with her now."

"Okay. Do you want to sit down somewhere, maybe talk about it?"

He doesn't say yes, but he doesn't say no either, so she leads him to a bench just beyond the hospital's automatic doors. The weather is a cliché, complete with shining sun, chirping birds, and a gentle breeze, and Summer has just started to relax when she hears the soft, choking sobs coming from the boy next to her.

She says nothing, just scoots closer and wraps her arms around his shaking body and holds him until the sobs have subsided. There is nothing else she can do but she knows, somehow, that it is enough.

XXX

Marissa doesn't really react when Summer gives her the news, just takes another swallow of the day's third Long Island iced tea and adjusts her sunglasses. Sandy holds Kirsten close as she sobs in the kitchen, where all important family meetings are held, and they follow Summer's car to Chino for the ceremony.

Ryan stands close to Theresa throughout the service, one hand on her elbow to ensure that she remains upright. There is an ugly moment when the first shovelful of dirt hits the tiny coffin and a loud, strangled sound escapes Theresa's throat, but the girl manages to maintain her control. Summer watches a single tear leak down Ryan's cheek and closes her eyes against the onslaught of grief.

Later, after the house has been emptied of mourners and Theresa has fallen asleep with her mother by her bedside, the Cohens hug Ryan one last time. "You still have a home with us," Sandy tells him solemnly, and his voice breaks a little when he adds, "Son."

Summer stays late to help clean up and she is plastic-wrapping the last casserole when Ryan pauses in his scrub-down of the counters and says, "I need some air. You coming?"

They sit on the porch, watching the stars appear one by one, and Summer keeps her eyes on the sky when she asks, "Do you think you'll … come back?"

"I don't know," he says honestly. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do now."

She touches his hand, fingers grazing over the cuts on his knuckles that are only now starting to heal. "You're supposed to move on as best you can," she tells him, her voice as gentle as her touch. "You're supposed to make every day count."

Ryan bends his head so their foreheads touch and breathes in deeply. "Okay," he whispers, "Okay. Then I'd like to start now."

XXX

"You move from Chino to juvie to Newport to Chino and now back to Newport, and all you have in your possession are _three_ boxes?"

"Yeah, well, juvie wasn't really too keen on letting me hang posters on the walls and potted flowers by the window."

Summer snorts. "As I live and breathe. Did Ryan Atwood just make a joke?"

"Shut up," he mumbles, turning away to heft another box into her backseat.

"He did! He was deliberately funny. Ladies and gentlemen, a round of applause. Watch out, 'cause the next stop is a spotlight appearance on Comedy Connection and after that it's nothing but chain smoking and –"

Ryan cuts her off with a kiss, which, he's learned in the past few weeks, is the most effective way of shutting her up. It works like a charm and Summer falls back against the car as he presses closer and cages her in with his arms. "You're such a smartass," he murmurs into her ear and she giggles as they break apart.

"You love it," she says matter-of-factly, and goes around to the driver's seat. "Now, you ready or what?"

"I'm ready, I'm ready," he laughs, climbing in.

"Good." The car starts and Summer reverses out of the driveway, shooting him a wide smile. "'Cause Sandy said Kirsten's dinner is being delivered at five. Let's get you home, Atwood."

He smiles back and his eyes drift to their interlocked fingers resting on the gearshift and he is already there.


End file.
